


Caught Up

by writingseoul



Series: BTS Gang AU [1]
Category: Teen Top (Band), 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gang World, Brief mention of sexual assault, F/M, Gen, Light Angst, Minor Character Death, Minor Violence, hints of romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-21
Updated: 2015-04-08
Packaged: 2018-03-18 21:54:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 19,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3585396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingseoul/pseuds/writingseoul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A small favor for an acquaintance goes horribly wrong and you find yourself dragged headlong into a world of danger. All you wanted to do was manage to graduate college.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Errand

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [BTS as Gang Members](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/104271) by heckai. 



> This was inspired by tumblr user heckai's BTS as gang members post. I have all of the main story written, which will be updated regularly, and will be adding additional scenes here and there as I write them. I sort of binge-wrote this in a weekend so it's shorter and more fast-paced than my usual work (on my tumblr blog) and I apologize in advance for any grammatical mistakes.

            “I’m so sorry, I wouldn’t normally ask someone I just met to do this, but you mentioned working near Sinsa and I won’t be able to make it south of the river for some time,” he explains, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s really urgent though but it’ll only take a few minutes.”

            You frown, eyeing the admittedly innocent looking package on the table in front of you. “Come on, Joe, you know I’m busy,” you complain, mostly just to stall. Something’s not right but you can’t really place your finger on it.

            “ _L_.Joe,” he corrects. “And I know, I’m sorry to ask if of you, but it’d be a huge help to me, and I’d majorly owe you one.”

            Sighing loudly just to bother him, you look pointedly at the clock on your phone. “Well, if it’ll only take a few minutes,” you say, flashing him the beginnings of a playful smile. He beams in relief.

            “Thank you so, so much, _______,” he breathes. “I really owe you.”

            “Don’t forget it,” you tease. L.Joe promises not to with a wink, and you try not to flush; he is one of the more attractive people you’d met recently and though you don’t really have time in between work, classes, and Krav, you could make some room for a face like that.

            He scrawls the address and two phone numbers on a napkin, placing it on top of the package quickly. “That’s the office where my friend works,” he explains. “The top number is his, in case you get lost, and the bottom number is mine. For, you know, whatever reasons.”

            His grin is a little too wide but you flash him a grin of your own as he stands to leave. “I’m sorry I have to run so soon.”

            “No worries,” you reassure him, pulling the package closer to you. “I’m sure the favor you owe me will make up for it.”

            L.Joe winks, grin bordering on a smirk as he heads for the exit. As the door closes behind him, sending the sound of clinking bells through the café, your smiles falls and you stare, annoyed, at the brown paper in front of you. It’s doesn’t look particularly suspicious, just a brown padded envelope that’s clearly been stuffed full, but when you pick it up and slide your hands over the lump of the contents, you can’t begin to guess what it is. It just feels like a normal box inside. You sigh hard through your nose, finishing off your drink in one go so you can get on your way to deliver this and actually still get to work on time.

            The office at the address L.Joe had given you turns out to be not far from your office. Down a few side streets you hadn’t ventured through before and rather poorly marked, the building stands short, dirty, and in a state of disrepair that sharply contrasts the quiet but stately buildings beside it.

            “What the hell did you ask me to do, Joey-boy?” you mumble under your breath. It takes you a few minutes to gather the courage to ring the bell and you jump when a voice buzzes through the intercom almost immediately.

            “You have the wrong building, miss.”

            You start, rereading the address on the paper, before looking up at the tarnished numbers that are barely still screwed into the wall. It’s the right number and you know you’re on the right street, so what the hell was the guy on the other end of the speaker doing assuming he knew your business? You scowl at the intercom, jabbing at the talk button in retaliation.

            “I’m a friend of L.Joe,” you explain, trying to keep your voice polite. “He asked me deliver a package?”

            There’s a couple seconds of static on the other end before the voice crackles to life again. “Are you _______?” it asks exasperatedly.

            “Uh, yeah, that’s me.”

            “Fourth floor. Go right to the elevator and come up. No detours.”

            A buzz echoes through the small entranceway and you jump again, hurrying to grab the door handle. “Fuckin weird,” you mutter, blinking in the sudden dimness. The first floor, at least, looks more like an abandoned warehouse than anything and the only thing even remotely lit is the lone hallway that leads to the elevator. You somehow get the feeling you’re being watched at this point, considering how sharp the intercom man’s voice was, so you try not to outright bolt for the elevator, despite how much your heart is starting to pound.

            The elevator doors slide open with a ding that echoes around the floor the moment you push the button and you have a fleeting urge to just drop the package and run but something forces you calmly inside, though your hands tremble as you push the button for the fourth floor. The machine rumbles to life, a rather concern squeaking noise echoing above you as it crawls upwards. When the doors slide open at your destination, you’re greeted with nothing but a wall spray-painted with a huge symbol. A crown topped with a capital T sits on top of a six-pointed star and your jaw goes the slightest bit slack because you know that image – L.Joe has it tattooed on his left shoulder. You had asked him about it the first time you had met him and he was wearing a tank top.

            “Don’t just stand there,” a voice cuts in. Your whip around to face the voice echoing down the hallway and the boy leaning against the doorframe at the end of it laughs. “Jumpy, aren’t you?”

            “This isn’t the type of place I normally frequent,” you tell him dryly. He makes a mocking sound, as though he’s offended.

            “I’m sorry,” he simpers. “Perhaps we should’ve cleaned up before the princess came calling.”

            Your lip curls back instinctively and the rudeness sharpens your fear into anger. “Then do better next time,” you snap. Your footsteps echo down the hall as you stalk towards the stranger, yanking the envelope from your bag. “Here.”

            He catches it with a hint of surprise at the vehemence with which you throw it at him – something that inwardly delights you – and turns it in his hands, inspecting it. Something about the look in his eye as he studies it makes you uneasy, even more uneasy than the creepiness of the elevator and first floor, and you hope to god you can leave soon because you feel like you’re about to have a knife buried in your back at this point.

            “You didn’t open it?” he asks mildly, his finger tracing the seal.

            “Why would I?” you retort. “It’s none of my business. I’m just going a favor for a friend.”

            “Good,” the man says, voice turning cheerful. Even when he’s happy, he sounds threatening. “I’m assuming you know the way out, princess.”

            “No, I’ve forgotten it in the two minutes I wasn’t in the elevator,” you mutter scathingly.

            “Funny,” he drawls as he turns his back on you. You sneer at the back of his head and retreat back down the hallway. There’s no sign of anyone as you exit but your steps are still hurried, even when you’re out of the building and at the end of the block. The moment you turn the corner, you break into a run, ignoring the looks you get as you speed towards your office.

            “_______, are you okay?” Yejin asks as you collapse into your seat. She’s your boss’s coworker, not yours, but Kim Yejin was known for taking good care of everyone in the company.

            “Fine, really,” you gasp, trying to calm your breathing. “Just had a really weird experience and wanted to get to work as quickly as possible.”

            “Do you want to call someone?” she asks. You shake your head quickly.

            “It’s something that won’t happen twice,” you try to explain. “I’m fine, just a little startled.”

            Yejin doesn’t seem convinced, but she nods, retreating when her secretary rushes up to ask her something. You quickly set to work at your desk, desperately trying to forget whatever the hell just happened.

            “_______, how’s the project going?” Chaelin asks, leaning out of her office door. You almost fall out of your chair, despite the fact that it’s completely normal for Chaelin to check in on you when you first arrive. She blinks, as taken aback by your reaction as Yejin was at your appearance. “You okay?”

            “Yeah,” you say in a rush. “Just having a really weird day, that’s all. Really nothing to worry about. But yeah, project’s going well! Everything’s on time so far and running as expected so, yeah, great.”

            She blinks. “O-Okay. Well, let me know if you need anything at all, okay? Even if it’s not to do with work?”

            You smile weakly, screaming at yourself to calm down and act normal. “Of course,” you reply. “Thanks.”

            The blonde gives you a cautious smile back before returning to her own work and you try to refocus on your computer and concentrate. You don’t have much success and for the first time since you started your internship, you leave exactly when your hours end and shell out the extra dollars for a taxi instead of the metro. You don’t feel safe again until you’re buried underneath your bedsheets with the shades of your whole apartment drawn and L.Joe’s number is ripped up in the garbage can. The logic-driven half of your mind tries to remind the rest of you that it’s over now, that you did the favor, and you never have to go back to that building or see L.Joe and whoever the heck his creepy friend was again.

            _They have no idea where you live_ , you think to yourself. _L.Joe doesn’t know your last name. He doesn’t even have your number. You’ll be fine. Don’t freak yourself out and just go back to living life as normal. You’re a brown belt in Krav Maga, for heaven’s sake! You know how to defend yourself!_

            Still, your dreams that night are filled with creepy smiles and six-pointed stars topped with crowns.

 

 


	2. Stranger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting the second chapter with the first because this a BTS-centric story and BTS isn't in the first chapter at all lmao

            Just as you had reasoned, you slip easily back into your regular routine after that. L.Joe doesn’t try to contact you and you don’t even hear from the friend that had introduced you to him. Your classes continue as usual, as do your daily visits to the café, and if your classmates at Krav notice you pushing yourself a little harder than usual, they don’t comment on it. After three days, you start taking the metro to and from work and Krav again and, even though you’re wary of literally everyone that surrounds you, no one really pays you more than a glance of attention. Still, you stop putting headphones when you commute. It earns unwanted attention from a few guys, since you can’t pretend you don’t hear them talking to you now, but they’re never too difficult to handle.

            In fact, by the time a week and a half has passed without incident, you feel almost completely normal. Your window shades still spend more time closed than they do open now, but the feeling of being watched is fading away and you feel less like there’s a target painted on your back. The past few days have been so remarkably normal, you’re almost tempted to convince yourself that you imagined the whole thing.

            “The next two classes are going to be cancelled, don’t forget,” your Krav instructor calls above the din of people packing up. “It’s my anniversary and my wife’s birthday so I’m gonna be out of town for the week which means you’ll be showing up to a locked door and darkness if you come.”

            There’s an amused rumble of agreement from your students and you just laugh, pushing your wet hair back into a ponytail.

            “You’re gonna crease your hair, putting it after washing it like that,” your friend Tao grins, plopping down next to you to pull his shoes on.

            “I just _rinsed_ it,” you whine, punching him lightly in the shoulder. He yelps, pouting as he rubs at the spot and you roll your eyes. “Master in Wushu and Krav Maga and yet whimpers like a puppy at the slightest hit.”

            “It’s not my fault you hit hard,” he complains. You cackle, slinging your bag over your shoulder as you stand.

            “Wimp,” you grin, snatching his towel from the ground where he’d dropped it and pegging him in the face with it.

            “You’ll pay for that next class!” he yells after you and you laugh wholeheartedly because for all Tao’s prowess as a martial artist, he’s little more than a six foot tall teddy bear. You’re still grinning as you exit the studio, thumbing through your phone’s notifications for anything important as you start the trek back home. Your leg muscles are almost screaming with exhaustion but they’ve gotten used to the walk at this point.

            You’re halfway home and humming quietly to yourself when your peace is interrupted.

            “Excuse me? I’m so sorry to bother you, but do you live around here?”

            You glance up from your phone slowly and a boy with strangely lavender hair is staring back at you. “What?”

            “I’m sorry,” he repeats, a slight blush evident on his cheeks even in the dim light of the streetlamps. “I’m from out of town, from Daegu actually, and I’m supposed to be visiting some friends, but I got lost on my way to the guesthouse and my phone is dead.”

            “Oh, uhm,” you stutter. “What’s the name of the place? I can look it up for you.”

            The boy heaves sigh of relief and grins an odd, square smile at you. “Thank you so much,” he gushes. “I thought I was doomed to wander the streets for days.”

            You laugh at the dramatics. “I’m sure your friend would’ve found you eventually. Here, just type in the name in Google.”

            “No, I would’ve been lost forever for sure,” he nods seriously, taking your phone. You can’t even begin to wipe the smile off your face.

            “What’s your name?” you ask as he searches.

            “My friends usually just call me V,” he answers, beaming at you again. Despite everything, his blocky grin is surprisingly charming.

            “That’s sort of an unusual nickname, isn’t it?”

            “Well, I always used to win every race we had in elementary school so they nicknamed me V for victory,” he explains. He says it like it’s the most normal thing in the world and maybe, you think, it is for him. “Ah! Here it is – it’s not far, just like I thought.”

            He turns the phone towards you and you study the map on the screen – it really isn’t far from where you’re at. “Oh that’s not too bad,” you say. “Can you remember it or do you want me to walk with you?”

            “Would you mind?” he asks, his voice going shy again. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or anything. But my memory’s sort of terrible.” He looks at you with an innocence that reminds you of the kids your coworkers bring into the office sometimes and your heart immediately goes out to him.

            “Of course I don’t mind,” you reassure him. “I’d feel terrible if you got lost again.”

            You set off with V at your side, studying the map as you try to figure out which street to turn down. “You didn’t tell me your name,” V notes as you walk.

            “_______,” you introduce yourself, sticking a hand out for him to shake. It’s a little awkward since you’re both moving, but V doesn’t bat an eyelash as he takes your hand. “Are you only staying for the weekend then?”

            “Yeah,” he blinks in surprise. “How’d you know?”

            “Well, you only have a backpack with you,” you explain hesitantly. “I just sort of assumed.”

            “Oh, that does make sense,” he murmurs, glancing at his backpack. “Yeah I’m only staying for a few days but my friend’s still in the dorms at his university and he can’t have overnight guests.”

            You nod in understanding; it’s a pretty common rule at Seoul universities. “Are you at university back in Daegu?”

            “Yep,” he grins again. “I’m studying theater.”

            “Oh, wow. That must be a lot of fun.”

            He nods enthusiastically, and you point him down the next street, a quiet road lined with house that’s almost entirely abandoned with the exception of two stray cats and a shoddy van parked near someone’s driveway.

            “Jeez, night falls and it’s like no one lives here at all,” you laugh.

            “Oh god, what if the guesthouse I chose is haunted and I’m gonna be murder in my sleep by a vengeful ghost?” V gasps and you laugh harder.

            “You don’t believe in ghosts, do you?”

            “You don’t?” he asks, not a hint of humor in his voice. Your laughter quickly dies off.

            “I mean,” you struggle for a response, hoping to god you haven’t offended him. “How could they possibly exist?”

            “There’s no reason for them not to,” he points out. It’s hard to argue with that, and you tell him so. Almost immediately, that blocky grin is back, and the knot in your chest unwinds.

            “I’ve made a convert,” V giggles.

            “I didn’t say that,” you protest. V laughs harder and it’s almost enough to drown out the sound of the van’s door flying open.

            Almost.

            You shriek in surprise as V’s laughter cuts off and his hands slam into your shoulders, shoving you towards the gaping blackness of the vehicle. The edge of the car floor slams into the back of your knees and you can’t stop the way they buckle, toppling inside. Instinct takes over as you lunge upwards, mouth curling in a snarl, but whoever is in the van pins your shoulders down and V looms over you, slapping some sort of cloth across your face. Your brain screams at you to hold your breath in some desperate bid to not be drugged, but you’ve already opened your mouth and inhaled in an attempt to scream and it takes barely ten seconds for your hands to feel like they’ve turned to lead as you claw uselessly at the person holding you down.

            The feeling of V moving your legs entirely into the van is only at the fringes of your mind and though you fight through the growing haze to gasp out a single plea, you’re not even sure what you say and the darkness that comes with the door slamming swallows you whole.


	3. Interrogation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: violence really gets going in this chapter
> 
> Also, thank you so much to everyone who's commented and left kudos on this~ You guys are the sweetest <3

            You wake to pain erupting in your cheek. You moan softly, every part of your body screaming in protest as you come to, and your head rolls back as your brain tries to orient itself. Opening your eyes while looking up proves to be a terrible idea when you end up staring directly into one of the brightest lights you’ve ever seen and you yelp, brain functioning much faster as you blink away the blind spots.

            The man sitting in front of you is wearing sunglasses. Huge sunglasses. They practically cover half his face and the lenses are so dark, you can’t see even a hint of his eyes.

            “Those are ridiculous,” you mumble.

            He doesn’t answer and when you think back to what you said later, you can understand why. You’re not sure why you’re so fixated on the sunglasses either.

            “V’s normally pretty good at getting just the right amount to knock someone out without killing them,” the man says dryly. His voice is deep and the authority that drips from every word makes you shudder. “But he went a little too strong this time.”

            You hum in acknowledgement and the sounds cracks. Your mouth is dryer than your now-cracked lips but you still run your tongue over them out of habit. It takes three tries for you to get your voice to work.

            “Is that why I feel like I’m dead?”

            He doesn’t look the faintest bit amused. “I’m assuming you know who I am,” he says as though you hadn’t spoken at all. “Or, at least, you can guess.”

            “I’m sorry, I really can’t,” you respond. That earns you a reaction, even if it is only a cocked eyebrow.

            “Really?” he asks skeptically. “This doesn’t ring a bell?” He pulls up his sleeve, revealing a large red and black tattoo on his forearm. You study the foreign for a good few seconds before you finally recognize what it is.

            “Kevlar?” you ask. The man snorts.

“Your employer didn’t enlighten to the fact that this trade comes with enemies?”

            You frown. “I’m an intern at a travel agency. What enemies am I supposed to have?”

            “Don’t play dumb,” he snarls. “Your other employer.”

            “Look, unless you’re talking about my school –”

           His movements are almost too fast for you to see, but the crack of his palm against your face is crystal clear. You gasp, the rest of the fog clearing from your mind as tears automatically fill your eyes.

            “This isn’t the time to play,” he snaps. “Unless you want to leave here in a body bag, I’d suggest you’d drop the act.”

            Your heart seizes, momentarily falling out of rhythm at the threat. Your body convulses at the sudden stab of pain and you try to regain a normal breathing rate as your mind races to catch up. “I really don’t know what you’re talking about,” you whimper.

            “You don’t remember being a runner for one of the most well-known gangs in Seoul?” he scoffs.

            “I – what?” you gasp. “I’m a _student_ , Jesus, I swear. I’m not involved with gangs, I don’t even _know_ –”

           “Stop lying!” he roars, standing up so fast, the chair beneath him clatters to the ground. You flinch backwards, uselessly trying to get away from the sound, and the tears that had gathered in your eyes spill over.

            “We know for a fact that you delivered a package to CAP a little more than a week ago,” he snarls, stepping closer until his fingers tangle in your hair and yank your head up so you can look at him. He’s tall naturally, you can tell, but this angle makes him look like a giant. Your mind flies back to that day, to the package L.Joe had slid across the table at you and the man that you had given it to. The man who, until just a few minutes ago, had been the most unnerving person you had ever met.

            You stumble for a response and it comes out almost uselessly. “I – no, you’ve got it wrong – it was – I’m not in a gang – it was a favor – I barely knew the guy, honestly.”

            “Bullshit,” he cuts in. “You really couldn’t come up with something more creative than the ‘favor for a friend’ story?”

            The grip on your hair tightens and you swear you’re going to lose a whole chunk of it at this rate. “I’m not lying,” you whimper.

            “Sure, sweetheart,” he snarls. He releases your hair with a shove and you whimper again at the pain coursing through your head. Something about the way he holds himself as he leans down to right the chair he had knocked over is dangerously calm, and you really can’t tell if it’s better to explain everything or just to stay silent at this point.

            A beep echoes around the room and though you flinch at the noise, he seems unconcerned. He pulls a phone from his pocket, walking towards the lone door in the room as he presses it to his ear. The slam of the door in its frame opens the floodgates and you curl in on yourself as much as your position will let you as you sob.

            Minutes pass and your sobs have barely started to subside when he comes back in.

            “I’m really not lying, I swear,” you whisper, wincing as your ragged voice grates on your vocal cords.

            “I don’t believe you,” he snarls. “You passed CAP’s gang information on mine, and you got a very good friend of mine killed.”

            Blood rushes in your ears, drowning out the rest of his words. You had gotten someone killed. L.Joe had told you it was nothing, just a favor for a friend. The package hadn’t even been heavy, had been small enough to fit in your purse, and you hadn’t even bothered to really inspect it. And whatever was inside had gotten someone killed. It had wrenched a soul out of this world, destroyed whatever future they had, left deep gouges in the lives of their loved ones.

            And you had made it happen.

            “Oh my god,” you breathe, gasping as the room spins. “It wasn’t – he said it was small. That – it wasn’t – important. Oh, god.”

            The drone of the man’s voice dies off as he watches you but you barely notice him. Everything seems so far away at this point, even his hand on your cheek as he tips your head back to look at him barely touches your consciousness. The blinding light from the ceiling casts most of his face in shadow, the rest of it searing across your vision, and you let out long whine, closing your eyes to escape the pain.

            You wake up on what appears to be some devil’s attempt at a bed – the mattress is so old, you can feel the springs digging into your rib cage – but you’re no longer tied to a chair and the room isn’t filled with blinding light so it might be considered an improvement. Your hands are bound, you realize as you try to sit up, with both a pair of handcuffs and a tornado of rope wound halfway up your forearms. Moving your hands too much makes the rope burn across your wrists and you struggle to hold them as still as possible as you get up. Your mouth is even drier than before, like someone’s stuffed cotton in it while you were unconscious, and your head pounds in an all-too familiar way.

            You’re not sure how long you’ve been there, but it has to have been at least a day for your caffeine withdrawal to reach this level. You moan, trying to focus on anything other than that headache since you doubt your captors are willing to bring you a cup of coffee.

            Especially when you’re basically responsible for one of their friends dying.

            The lightheadedness threatens to take over again when the door opens with a squeak loud enough to echo around the room. A boy that looks far younger than yourself appears in the doorway, a tray in his hands. He takes one look at you and scoffs.

            “Don’t faint again,” he says dryly, voice tinged with the faintest hint of a Busan accent. “Monster might just kill you and be done with it.”

            “I didn’t know,” you rasp. “I really didn’t.”

            The boy shrugs. “Doesn’t really matter, I suppose.” He sets the tray down carelessly on the mattress. “He says he’ll be back later. To continue.”

            You swallow hard, forcing back another whimper.

            “And we have a camera on you,” he continues. “So don’t bother trying to escape.”

            You wonder how they possibly think you’re going to try to escape when you’ve got this much bondage on your wrists and no way out of a locked room, but the boy just turns on his heel and leaves, slamming the door and taking the light with him. Your eyes are slow to adjust to the darkness and you have to force back your hunger for a long time until you can see well enough to find the tray again.

            You sip the water first, cringing at the metallic taste, but save the last half of it for when you’re done. The meal’s almost cruel for how thirsty you are – a limp peanut butter sandwich and a small apple – but you force it down and chase the bread with apple and then the rest of the water. It’s hard to get the tray onto the floor without sending the cup or plate skittering off but once you’re done, there’s little else to do but lay back down. Sleep will be difficult to find, considering your situation, but trying to find it is much more appealing than laying alone with nothing but overwhelmingly guilty thoughts and a growing headache for company.


	4. Addict

            “She’s shaking pretty hard, isn’t she Jiminnie?” V asks, studying the TV screen. Their captive was still lying on the bed, back to the camera, but the way her body was trembling was obvious even to them. Every once in a while, visible shudders would shake her even harder.

            “Maybe she’s cold, V,” the other responded wearily. “Shouldn’t you be working?”

            “I am working,” he protests. “I just happen to also being watching the security video.”

            There’s a moment of silence and Jimin thinks he might be relieved of V’s endless chatter for once.

            “How can she be cold? The room isn’t cold.”

           “She fainted when she found out about Donghyuk,” Jimin reminds him. “Maybe she’s in shock or something.”

            “Shock can be fatal,” V points out. “We’re not trying to kill her, are we?”

            “I’m gonna be fatal to you in a moment,” Jimin mutters in irritation. That earns him a hearty laugh from V, who finally turns away from the security camera screens to clap his best friend on the shoulder. “Why do you even care if she dies anyway?”

            “I don’t,” V shrugs. “But I’ve never seen someone die of shock before. Usually you guys are always so quick. It’d be kinda interesting to watch, don’tcha think?”

            “Just shut up and help me, would you?”

Jimin’s relieved as V starts to actually, truly focus on the task at hand, because infiltrating one of their biggest rival’s headquarters is a hard enough task and Jimin needs to understand just how good the human security is so he knows how to beat them. Since V’s line of work also usually involved some physical risk, as most kidnapping victims tended to put up some sort of fight, they would almost always work, and train, together.

            “Now hold the damn bag properly,” the shorter boy orders and V obligingly sinks into a proper stance.

           He gets only a few punches in before a familiar drawl cuts over his workout. “Shouldn’t you two, I don’t know, work out in the actual work out room?”

            “Suga, look how much this girl is shaking,” V pipes up, ignoring the elder’s annoyed expression.

            “Why do I give a shit about the girl shaking,” he shoots back.

            “I’m just saying it’ll be interesting to watch if she dies of shock,” the boy pouts. His lip curls in disappointment as Suga starts to walk away. “Monster hasn’t been able to get anything besides her claim that she didn’t know what she was doing out of her and she’s shaking like a leaf. And he said she was sweating the last time he was in there.”

            “Fear makes people sweat, you doofus,” Jimin grunts, landing punches hard enough to make V grunt in return.

            “Let me see the video,” Suga demands. The pair freeze in surprise; the elder never takes interest in a prisoner that isn’t directly involved with him or his drug trade.

            “It’s on the security screen,” V points. The redhead marches over, watching the girl roll over on the bed. V was right – she was shaking so hard, it was visible, and with her face now towards the camera, he could see that her face was lined with pain.

            “Monster said she was sweating?” he asks thoughtfully.

            “Yeah,” V answers, watching the elder in confusion. “He said she was sweating and that even though she was shaking that hard, she was actually getting snappy with him. Like she was angry. Before, she just begged.”

            “Where is he?” Suga demands. “Monster.”

            “In his office,” Jimin responds, glancing between Suga and V. “Why?”

            “Later,” the eldest calls over his shoulder.

            “That one is so weird,” V gripes as the door closes behind him.

            “Says you,” Jimin scoffs back. “Come on, we have to keep practicing.”

 

            “It’s withdrawal,” Suga explains. Monster raises an eyebrow, unconvinced. “I’m a _drug trafficker_ , man; I know what druggies look like. She’s addicted to something and she hasn’t been able to get it. I can offer her a deal of whatever she wants for information. Most addicts will do literally anything to get their fix.”

            Monster sighs, running a hand through his bleached hair. “How can you be certain?”

            “Well I can’t be one hundred percent certain,” Suga scoffs. “But you haven’t exactly gotten anywhere with her, and I know the signs of withdrawal when I see them.”

            There’s a few seconds of contemplative silence before Monster throws the pencil in his hand onto the table. “Fine,” he relents. “Can’t hurt. I’ve been thinking of letting her go anyway.”

            “Then why not just do it?”

            The leader doesn’t respond, his fingers dragging over his bottom lip as they always do when the younger’s deep in thought. “You said addicts will do anything to get a fix?”

            “If the addiction’s strong enough, yeah,” he shrugs. “I’ve seen coke addicts kill someone for a line. If your girl’s not changing her story because it’s a cover that she refuses to give up, it could be enough. Of course, an agent this dedicated really wouldn’t have let themselves get addicted to anything in the first place.”

            “Find out what she wants then,” the leader sighs. “If she agrees to a deal, good. If she keeps her story, we’re letting her go.”

            “Just like that?”

            “With a promise of Jungkook should she try to go to the police,” he grins maliciously.

            “Fair enough,” Suga grunts on his way out.

            The walk to the cells is a short one and he stops outside the door, fiddling with his fingerless gloves before heading in.

            You don’t bother stifling your groan when the door creaks open. It’s the third time today that you’re going to be interrogated and there’s really nothing else you can tell the guy, so you’re not sure what he could possibly want. The pain in your head is drowning out everything at this point – the pain from your other injuries, sadness, and even fear – and you don’t stop the harsh words that rip out the moment the door closes.

            “If you’re going to kill me, can you just please get it over with? This is tiresome.”

            “I’m not here to kill you,” the newcomer chuckles. You start at the unfamiliar voice, whipping around to see your new interrogator.

            “Who are you?” you demand warily.

            “My name’s Suga, but that’s not important,” he says, slumping into the other man’s usual seat. “What’s important right now is that you are going through withdrawal.”

            You freeze, jaw going slack as you struggle to keep up with this turn of events. “What the fuck are you talking about?” you snarl, jumping on the defense.

            Suga chuckles. “I’ve been around enough druggies in my life to know what someone who desperately needs a fix looks like. So what is it?”

            “I’m not a drug addict,” you snarl.

            “Tell me and I’ll get it for you,” he offers. “Anything. Hell, I probably have it in the building. Cocaine? Heroin? Meth?”

            You gape at the man sitting across from you. “I’m not – what the hell? Is everyone in here just insane? I’m a _college student_ for Christ’s sake, I work for a travel agency, I have nothing to do with _gangs_ , and all I want to do is _go home_.”

            “You’re also a damn good liar.”

            “I’m not lying!” you scream. It’s too bad the young boy had taken away your tray because you desperately want to hurl something at this new man and his infuriating arrogance.

            “The best lies are the ones wrapped in truth,” he says, unperturbed by your outburst. “Every statement you just said is true, except for one. You’re a college kid working for a travel agency and you met the wrong person at the wrong time.”

            “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you people,” you cry, struggling to keep your voice from cracking. Your tears have long since dried up but it doesn’t stop your body from trying.

            “Take a breath, yeah? I understand and I believe you and all that good stuff. But you are addicted to something,” he continues. “What is it, college kid? Adderall? I’ll get it for you, in exchange for whatever information you do have.” 

            You stare at the man in some sort of infuriated awe, caught so off-guard by his casual reasonableness after all of the other’s yelling and disbelief, that the truth just falls out.

            “Caffeine,” you finally rasp. “I’ve been caffeine dependent for years.”

            “There,” he grins in triumph. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

            “It doesn’t matter though,” you continue, defeated. “I have nothing I can offer you. I’ve already told the other guy everything. I met a boy who called himself L.Joe at a party and ran into him again at a coffee shop a few days later and delivered a package for him. He didn’t tell me what it was, I don’t have his number or information, and you guys already know where their headquarters is. He said it was really even that urgent. That’s it.”

            Suga shrugs, standing up. “Good to know. Take a nap or something, kid. You look like shit.”

            You’re silent as you watch him leave, unable to think of any sort of response as he walks out the door, and this time, when the latch locks into place, it sounds more like a death sentence than any other time before. Somehow the calmness of the whole encounter drains you more than the previous screaming sessions with the other guy and for the first time since you got there, you slump into the bed and fall into an actual, proper sleep.

 

            “There’s really not much to do, is there?” Monster sighs, leaning on his desk.

            “You ran background checks on her three times,” Jin points out. “She has no criminal record and no affiliation with anyone even remotely suspicious. As much as I want retribution for Donghyuk, killing her isn’t the way to do it.”

            “We can’t be certain she won’t go to the police,” the leader reminds him.

            “She won’t have anything to tell them that they don’t already know,” Suga speaks up. “She hasn’t seen your face, and they already have a profile of V, and they know me forwards and backwards.”

            “She was drugged on the way to headquarters,” Jin agrees. “It’s just wasted blood.”

            “And if you kill her, it’ll start a whole investigation,” Suga agrees. “Jungkook’s work is infamous. Hell, most of our work is. The style will be recognized and people will start wondering when we started going after innocent college girls.”

            “She might even know Jungkook’s work, if she watches the news,” the eldest adds. “If she does, it would be an effective threat. If not, she’s scared enough as it is, any possibility of harm will probably keep her quiet.”

            “Enough,” Monster interrupts. The elder pair fall silent, neither of them looking away from the leader’s tense figure. “It’s like you two actually care whether she dies.”

            “I don’t really give a shit either way,” Suga shrugs. “I’m just saying it could cause more problems than it solves.”

            “You never wanted to kill innocents, Joon,” Jin says quietly. Even Suga holds his breath at that – the eldest member was the only one who got away with using the leader’s real name and even that was rare. “At least, not if you could help it.”

            The ensuing silence stretches long enough to make both Suga and Jin shift uncomfortably, and they try to stifle their sighs when Monster finally starts to nod.

            “You’re right, Jin,” he agrees, voice calmer than it had been in days. “She’s not an enemy. Even if she was, it’d be like trying to kill a kitten. Suga, you always claim to be a man of your word, right?”

            Suga glances across the room, meeting Jin’s confused gaze. “When I can,” he answers uncertainly.

            “Take the girl home,” Monster orders. “She’s asleep now, so have V make sure she stays that way until you get far enough into the city that she can’t give the police any clues.”

            “Why me?” the redhead whines. “I have a huge deal tomorrow night, I can’t be babysitting.”

            Monster laughs. “You’ll make your deal just fine. Besides,” he clears his throat as he straightens up and turns back to his desk. “You owe her a cup of coffee, no?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know it seems a little weird, but as someone who is caffeine dependent and has gone through serious withdrawal before like...shit's seriously not fun. But thank you so much to everyone who's been supporting this~! You guys are the best


	5. Coffee Break

            You wake to the sensation of moving and it startles you enough that you lunge upright in your seat, gasping. Your elbow smashes into something hard and you yelp, trying to cradle the injury only to find your wrists are still cuffed together.

            “Calm down there, college kid.”

            You blink at the sight of city buildings whipping past you on the freeway and it takes only three highway signs for you to register that you’re back in Seoul.

            “What happened?” you ask, glancing nervously at the driver. Suga shrugs, keeping his eyes on the road.

            “Monster decided to let you go,” he answers. “Not much point in keeping you there anymore.”

           You slump back into the seat, blood pounding in your ears and temples, and you squint at the painful sunlight. “I’d assumed I was just gonna be killed.”

            “It was a close call, honestly,” the other admits. His voice is all too casual for your comfort. “Decided not to at the last minute. Don’t get too comfortable though – I’ve been told to pass on the message that if you try to go to the police or your friend’s gang, we’re setting Jungkook after you.”

            “Jungkook?”

            “He’s our assassin,” Suga explains. “Damn good one too. I doubt you’d know him by name but he was the one that hit that CEO last month.”

            “He what?” you yelp. You know exactly the case he’s referring to – it was plastered all over the news. The CEO of one of Seoul’s biggest up and coming clothing companies was found shot through the head in his apartment; the most amazing part was that he was supposed to have the very best security team. “Wasn’t that linked to like, five other murders?”

            “All our dear Jungkookie,” he says, voice turning saccharine. “Beast, that kid is. You met him, actually.”

            “I what?” you squeak, stomach turning at the thought of being near someone so merciless.

            “I believe Monster put him on food duty.”

            The image of the young boy that had brought you the trays of food flashes in your mind and you heave, one hand clutching at the door handle. The other hand hangs uselessly below it, some faint part of the back of your mind registering the pain of the metal digging into your skin, but you’re far more concerned with the way your head’s spinning. The police had painted that murderer in the worst light, naming him a bloodthirsty psychopath who would kill anyone in his path; if only they knew he was a child younger than even you. A child in a _gang_ that probably even respected his leader and older members.

            “I think I’m gonna be sick,” you whisper.

            “Hey, whoa, no, no you’re not,” Suga snarls. “Not in my car. Roll down the window or something. Get some air.”

            You fumble with the window button until Suga ends up rolling the window down for you and you lean your head on the door, letting the wind send your already messy hair flying. You have to close your eyes but it helps, calming you down until the nausea passes.

            “So you’re taking me home?” you clarify weakly.

            “Not quite.” You look over at him and he glances back. There’s a barely contained hint of annoyance in his voice as he continues. “I did promise to get you your drug of choice after all.”

            You take a minute to process that. “You’re taking me to get coffee?”

            “Yep.”

            You snort. Kidnapped for who knows how many days by apparently one of the top gangs in Korea because of what you thought was a small favor for a friend had led to your introduction to one of the most notorious assassins in the country – whose job was to bring you _food_ – and now a master drug trafficker was buying you coffee. You know that your giggles are fueled more by hysteria than humor but it’s such a weird situation that it is actually a little bit funny and you can’t stop yourself before you’re slumped helplessly into the car door, wheezing at the pain of breathless laughter.

            “What the hell was that?” Suga demands when you finally quiet down.

            “You’re buying me coffee,” you gasp. “This whole situation is ridiculous.”

            “It’s not something to be laughing about,” he grunts. You can tell he’s decidedly unamused but you think you can see a hint of a smile at the corner of his lips. “Also do us both a favor and try to fix your hair or something. Let’s try not to draw attention to ourselves during this, yeah? If someone calls the police because you look like a kidnapping victim, there’s no guarantee Monster’s not gonna sign your death warrant.”

            “Maybe you should undo the handcuffs then,” you point out.

            “When we get there.”

            “What the hell am I gonna do, punch the person who’s driving the car I’m in?”

            “I’m turning the radio on if you’re going to ask stupid questions.” Your retort gets drowned out in the sudden blast of bass as Suga turns on what hip hop station he had last been listening. The door rattles with the intensity of the music and you pout, leaning back in your seat.

            You end up at a small café not too far away from your apartment, though you hadn’t stopped in it before. Suga unlocks the cuffs when he parks after reminding you that he’ll set Jungkook after you if you run – you fight back the urge to ask if he’ll do it if you even breathe – but even with your hands free, there’s little you can do to make yourself look less like a kidnapping victim.

            “This is useless,” the man mumbles. “Hold on.” He leans his seat back, rummaging in the back seat and coming up with a package of wet wipes and a beanie. He tosses them in your lap with a command of “clean yourself up” and you quickly use the rearview mirror to wipe the layer of grime that’s built on your face and hands away. The beanie goes on over your tangled hair and though you look slightly more presentable, it’s barely passible.

            “It’ll have to do,” Suga grumbles as he studies your face. He tugs the beanie back until it’s more casually set on your head. “Come on, I don’t have all day to babysit.”

            You scurry after him quickly. It’s not until you’re sitting at a table, nervously staring at the window while Suga orders that you begin to realize that nothing’s really going to be the same after this. When the man finally returns, a cup in either hand, you latch on to yours to stop the way you’ve started to pick at your fingers. It’s a surprise when he sits down across from you and you stare until he barks a _what_ at you.

            “I just – I assumed you’d just leave,” you say.

            “You’re not the only one that likes coffee,” he grunts. You nod, fixing your gaze on the table instead; you find yourself wishing this café had interesting tabletops instead of plain wood.

            “Uh,” you start after a few minutes of silence. “What happened to my bag? And my phone?”

            “How would I know?” he groans, checking his watch. “Phone was probably chucked. You should get a new one.”

            You nod again as though it’s not a problem when, really, you know damn well you can’t afford a new one. Suga mutters something you don’t hear but the sound of his chair’s legs screeching against the floor jerks you back into reality.

            “Look I have things to do, so I can’t sit around babysitting you,” he says as he stands. He thumbs through his wallet for a minute and you don’t respond. At this point, anything you say just makes him look more annoyed and you really don’t want to end up assassinated in your apartment. “Here. Buy yourself whatever you want.”

            A few bills scatter across the table in front of you, but the man’s gone before you can thank him. A lump sticks in your throat as you watch him go and you wonder if you could possibly have positive feelings for him.

            _He was calm and understanding when you had been shouted at and threatened for however many days._ You reason with yourself. _That’s all._

            You still couldn’t bring yourself to even count the bills he had left you for a long, long time.


	6. There and Back Again

            It’s a painful shock to come home and find your roommate looking completely unconcerned. You weren’t certain how you even managed to drag yourself out of the café in the first place and standing here, in the doorway of your apartment, all dirty and disheveled, while your roommate casually fixes her earrings as she stumbles towards her shoes, throws you.

            “Hey, where you been all weekend?” she asks cheerfully. “I was starting to think something had happened.”

            _Isn’t it obvious? Something did happen! Look at me!_

            “I went a trip,” you find yourself lying. “Sort of impromptu. Some friends thought it up at the last second and I figured, what the hell, right?”

            “Oh that sounds like a lot of fun?” she grins. “Was it fun? You look tired, so I’m assuming you had fun.”

            “Yeah,” you choke out. “It was great. But I really just want to shower and sleep before class tomorrow.”

            “I hear you,” she laughs, nudging you out of the way so she can grab her favorite heels. “I’m gonna be out for a while so I’ll be quiet when I come back.”

            You nod an acknowledgment, moving towards your room like a zombie. The door closes in the distance but you just stare blankly at the walls of your apartment. It’s all the same. Of course it is – why would it have changed? It’s you that went through hell, not the room. You draw the shades, reveling in the darkness that follows, and stumble back towards your bedroom.

            The first thing that catches your eye is your bag sitting on the bed and you almost fall over. You tear over to it, dumping it out, only to find that your phone had, indeed been snatched. Everything else was exactly as you left it. Your workout clothes still reeked of sweat and your wallet was tucked safely in a side pocket, not a single card or bill out of place. Like you had dropped it on your bed and left.

            As though you had dropped your bag and left on an impromptu trip with your friends.

            You run to the bathroom, collapsing on your knees as you dry-heave over the toilet. There’s no wind to calm you down now, no annoyed drug dealer demanding you keep his car clean and so you retch until your stomach’s empty of what little coffee you drank and your throat’s raw and burning from bile. When you find the strength to stand, flushing away the mess on your way up, you stare at your reflection in the mirror, more surprised by the lack of bruises on your cheeks than by the sunken, dead look in your eyes. The first man – Monster, Suga had called him and you thought it was more than appropriate – had smacked you across the face a number of times. You had assumed it would be at least discolored, if not swollen. It was a little darker than usual, but not much. Had they tried to clean you up during the intermittent bouts of fitful rest?

            Your eyes fall on the beanie pull low atop your head, black and embroidered with three Z’s along the rim. It’s a stark reminder of what happened and though you’d rather forget it ever happened, it’s grounding. What had happened had happened. Even if everything else seemed like nothing had gone on, here was proof.

            It’s a little weird, but you don’t judge yourself when you yank the hat off and press it against your nose, inhaling the stale scent of nicotine along with something that’s probably Suga’s cologne or something, and something else you don’t recognize. It’s not exactly a pleasant combination – though the cologne could be appealing on its own – but it’s enough to calm the storm in your mind and you set it down on the counter carefully before turning to the shower.

            That night, you sleep without dreams, clutching the beanie in your hand as tightly as possible. When you wake, your roommate’s sleeping peacefully on the other side of the room, and it’s so normal, you almost forget anything happened.

            And then you remember the beanie in your hand.

            With a sigh, knowing that you’ll get no more sleep that morning, you retreat to the kitchen and make yourself a pot of the strongest coffee possible. You jam the beanie back on your head until it’s down over the tips of your ears and sit at the table, eventually draining the whole pot.

            “Is that a new beanie?” your roommate asks with a yawn, stumbling out a while later. “I don’t think I’ve seen it before.”

            “A friend gave it to me,” you lie absently. The thought of how many more times you’ll have to lie to her – or anyone – strikes you briefly but you set it aside. For now, survival and returning to your normal life had to be the top priorities.

            And that’s exactly what you focus on. Missing the weekend robs you of your time to do schoolwork but it’s not long before you catch back up. You take on another project at work, staying long hours in the office once more. When people ask how your weekend went, you tell them you just relaxed and did nothing. Only a few people ask about the beanie that now seems to always be perched on your head and you answer them once and they don’t ask again. Even when the smell of crime starts to wear off it, it still reminds you of what happened and whenever you start to panic, you clutch at it until you’re grounded again.

            The only thing that changes is that you start carrying pepper spray on a daily basis. You still take the metro home at the regular time and walk home alone at night from Krav, but the canister is never out of reach. You manage to get a new phone, though it’s not exactly top quality and you get it from a vendor that you suspect may have stolen it. Either way, you clear out the data and try to start over.

            A month passes without a sign of a single member of the bulletproof gang and you finally start to think that, just as Suga had kept his word to get you caffeine – and had left you over a hundred thousand won that day – the rest of the gang will too and you won’t get hurt by them. You still wear the beanie at least once a day because you need it. Part of your self-therapy, you tell yourself. It’s the only thing that calms you down when your nightmares start seeping into the shadows of reality at three in the morning.

            Sometimes you see V’s blocky smile in your dreams and you’re still just as charmed as you were when you first saw it – a reaction, you’re sure, he’s practiced hard to get from everyone – and sometimes you see Suga’s casually bored expression that he wore when he swooped in to end your ordeal, and somehow either of those is more painful than Monster’s harsh, unceasing yelling. But nothing’s worse than the dreams of a faceless, shadowed body lying bloodied at your feet and you wake knowing that was the man you had accidentally gotten killed. No matter how much you tried to tell yourself it wasn’t your fault, you couldn’t have known, it didn’t ease the guilt much. The dreams don’t fade with time, but you learn how to deal with them until your roommate doesn’t notice anything wrong.

            It’s just after you start enjoying have the shades up again he reappears.

            “You need to come with me,” L.Joe insists in a clear panic, hand sliding down your arm to grasp your hand.

            “What the hell are you talking about?” you demand, trying to drag your hand back.

            “You’re in danger,” he says urgently. “I know it sounds crazy but please, you have to trust me, your life is in danger.”

            _My life was in danger two months ago. Where were you then?_

            “I really don’t think I should go anywhere with you,” you refuse, gently peeling his fingers away from your wrist.

            “I know it sounds crazy, I know it does,” he pleads. “I know this sounds so weird and creepy, but your life is really in danger and you can’t stay here.”

            Your mind flits briefly to the thought of Jungkook being after you but if he was as efficient as everyone said he was, you’d have been dead long before L.Joe’s gang found out about it.

            “It does sound weird,” you argue, sliding backwards so you can close the door.

            “Please, I swear I’m just trying to –”

            He’s cut off by what sounds like a minor explosion and heavy crash followed by the sound of broken glass tinkering on the floor. You whip around the door, finding one of your windows smashed; the floor in front of it is scratched and scuffed from the brick that apparently came through it. Beside you, L.Joe turns pale.

            “We don’t have much time,” he tells you in a strained whisper. This time, when he grabs your hand and pulls you into a run, you don’t stop him. You just slam a hand down on the beanie on your head, keeping it on as you try to keep up. There are few windows on your way outside and once you’re on the sidewalk, L.Joe keeps an arm half above your head as he pushes you towards a waiting car, his body curled around yours as best as possible. Something else crashes to the ground not far from you and you don’t stop to see if it’s a brick or something worse this time.

            “Drive!” the boy behind you screams as he pushes you both in the car. Whoever’s behind the wheel – a boy you don’t know – slams on the gas and the tires scream across the pavement as he races away. You’re slammed backwards against the seat and your fingers claw at the door handle as you try to stay calm.

            “Where are we going?” you pant.

            “Back to headquarters,” L.Joe gasps back, looking out the back window to make sure you’re not being followed.

            Your heart turns to lead.


	7. New Friends and Old Foes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: this chapter does contain a mild sexual assault scene. If you're not comfortable with that, I'm very sorry and please feel free to skip right past it and just read the end

            The building that first turned your life upside down looks no different than it used to. The first floor is still a mess, an empty abandoned lobby with no lights but that near the elevator. Even being flanked by two other people, one of whom keeps a hand near your shoulder as you hurry doesn’t stop it from being any less scary. The elevator ride to the fourth floor is a slow, creaky affair, and once again, that huge crown and six-pointed star greet you as the doors slide open.

            You don’t pause to dwell on the fleeting though that a red and black Kevlar vest would be much more comforting at that point.

            This time, the fourth floor is an explosion of activity, men running around every which way. L.Joe forces you towards the office, quickly shoving you in before him before shutting the door.

            “CAP, what’s happened?” he demands as he slides around you. The man from before – the one you had delivered the envelope to – looks up briefly from the papers scattered across his desk. He starts filling L.Joe in and your hearing goes fuzzy as you remember just who this man is. Who L.Joe is.

            They’re the reason you helped get a man killed. Someone is dead because of the information you ran for them. You were _kidnapped_ and basically _starved_ for three days because of them. You hadn’t slept a full night in weeks – and it had all started with them. And now you’re standing in the leader’s – CAP’s – office, half-shoved off to the side and already forgotten as they lean over the papers, barking orders at their underlings every now and then. Your jaw clenches against the rush of fury clawing at your throat and you scrape your suddenly sweaty palms on your jeans. You can feel the heat rising in your cheek and it takes a good few minutes for you to calm down enough to trust your voice.

            “L.Joe,” you ask, barely keeping your tone level.

            “What is it, _______?” he snaps, not looking up from the papers.

            “Is there a bathroom I could step into?”

            “Down the hall, turn left,” he responds. “CAP, look here.”

            You roll your eyes, refusing to even spit a gratitude back at him, and stomp down the hall. It’s difficult to navigate between all the bodies rushing around but you manage. The bathroom is blissfully empty and you immediately move to the sink, pulling the handle until it’s spewing the coldest water it has. It’s not very cold but it soothes the fire in your cheeks well enough until you can think straight again.

            You’re no friend to this gang; that much you know. But there’s someone after you that wants to kill you and you don’t know who they are or how much they know. You can’t just leave the building. Something rooted deep inside you screams for you to find someone you at least trust – Suga or even V, if you could find the drug dealer. On instinct, you drag your phone out of your back packet and it’s not until you’re about to dial that you remember you don’t have their numbers. You don’t even know their real names, and even if you did, you doubt they’d have publicly listed numbers.

            “There’s no way,” you mumble to yourself. “I have nothing to go on.”

            Your only connection to that gang was the beanie still sitting on your head. A generic scrap of cloth. Plus there was no way you could be certain that the person who tried to kill you wasn’t Jungkook.

            _Whoever it was threw a brick through the window. It’s not Jungkook; if it were Jungkook, I’d be dead. But it doesn’t matter. I’m still on my own._

            And even if you could get out of here and find them now, what would be the point? They’re under no obligation to protect you. Hell, you had gotten one of their friends killed. They’d probably shoot you on sight. You’d have to get out of this on your own and get home – before your roommate took the heat.

            But L.Joe and CAP weren’t paying the slightest bit of attention to you, and even if they were, they wouldn’t let you leave.

            _What the fuck am I supposed to do?_

            You mumble a slew of curses under your breath, slamming your fist against the sink. It clatters louder than you expected and you jump backwards, nursing your sore hand. “Damn,” you swear once more. “Piece of fucking shit.”

            When you open the door, three people are staring at you.

            “What the hell was that?” one growls. You swallow, sliding your hands into your pockets to hide the red lacing up the side of your right.

            “I tripped,” you lie. It was becoming an almost everyday habit now. You couldn’t even bring yourself to be bothered by how casually you lied to people.

            “Be more careful,” a second grunts, walking away. You nod even though he’s already turned his back on you. The third eyes you more closely, until you’re physically uncomfortable. You shift the beanie as you swallow hard, looking away from his gaze and retreating back towards CAP’s office.

            They both look up for less than a second when you come in. “Just sit over there,” CAP tells you, vaguely gesturing at some chairs against the side of the wall.

            “Did you bring your phone with you, _______?” L.Joe asks.

            “No,” you lie again. “I didn’t have it on me when you showed up.”

            You sit down quickly, covering the phone-shaped lumped in your back pocket. The man looks like he doesn’t quite believe you but soon, he just nods. “Good. That way, the one that’s after you can’t use the GPS to track you here.”

            Oops.

            “Who is it?” you ask cautiously. “The one after me?”

            “Another gang,” CAP answers this time. “They probably won’t attack here. They’re smaller than us.”

            “The one with the Kevlar symbol?”

            “You mean Bulletproof?” CAP asks sharply, finally looking away from his papers.

            “Yes?”

            The two exchange a pointed look and you have absolutely no idea what it means.

            “It’s not them,” L.Joe answers. They both turn back to the desk with an air of finality and you slump against the back of your chair, mind racing in circles. There’s nothing you can do but wait.

            Thankfully, you don’t have to wait long.

            An explosion rocks the room, sending you careening to the floor, chair on top of you. You groan in disoriented pain and your ears ring painfully but you can still hear the faint yelling of CAP ordering L.Joe to run. It’s hard to shift the chair enough that you can see what’s happening but neither man spare you a second glance as they set the papers on the desk ablaze and dash for the door. Another explosion, this one further away, rocks the building and the chair topples off you. You groan in relief, pushing yourself up on to your forearms and knees. Your ears are still ringing and your balance is way off, as you learn when you try to sit up, but the sight of rabid flames spreading across the desk and a horrifying cracking sound from the ceiling has you pushing past the pain.

            You pause only to drag the beanie off the floor where it had fallen, slamming it back on your heard as you crash out the door. You stumble to a stop at the smoke and dust filling the air, blinking hard as it stings your eyes. A crash from somewhere in the building sends you careening forward, trying to find anybody on their way down because you’re sure as hell not taking the elevator but you have no idea where the stairs are. Every door down the hallway is locked – and there’s only three of them – but when you come to the corner near the bathroom, you scream, throwing yourself backwards when the ground vanishes from beneath you. This part of the building is almost destroyed, the floor forming a slide down to the third flood below you. What’s left underneath you groans with your weight and you scramble backwards, tearing down the other side of the T shaped hall.

            It’s at the end of this hall that you find the emergency stairs and you half-crash down them, your feet struggling to keep up with urgency of your mind. You’re on the landing of the second floor and tearing towards the flight down to the first floor when your race is interrupted by a spray of bullets. You stifle a shriek, hitting the ground as fast as possible, as you look for the source. Below you, the walls of the first floor staircase are riddled with bullet holes still dust. You hurl yourself backwards once more, scrambling for the door to the second floor.

            “There you are,” a growl sounds. Someone clutches your sleeve and then you’re spinning, confused and gasping until your back slams into the wall. You almost bounce off from the force and your cry of pain is strangled by the way the wind gets knocked straight out of your lungs. Your eyes go wide as you struggle to breath, wriggling away from the man who grabbed you.

            The feeling of a muzzle pressing against the underside of your chin makes you go rigid.

           “All of this,” he snarls, eyes darting around to indicate the building damage. “And yet the little whore still lives.”

            You recognize him as the man who was staring at you when you came out of the bathroom. “Let me go,” you snarl, jerking your head away from the gun.

            “Oh no, sweetheart,” he leers. The muzzle presses into your temple this time and you sneer. “No, no, no. If you can put out for the smarmy little Suga bastard, you can put out for me.”

            You blink at reference to Suga but don’t stop to dwell on it. One hand’s got the gun against your head – the other’s reaching for his belt. He manages to get it undone before his palm slams over your crotch and you hiss, snarling as you smack it away.

            “Nah-ah-ah,” he reprimands you, digging the gun into your skin a little bit harder. “I won’t hesitate to shoot you.”

            “What are you going to do, fuck a corpse?” you snap back.

            “Would you prefer I did?” he snarls. You fall silent, lips pressed together as your jaw clenches. He was fiddling with his pants, trying to get whatever microscopic dick he had out of his boxers and you know your window of opportunity, whatever it was, would be narrow. He dragged his cock out and you looked away, trying not to gag at the sound of his fist sliding quickly over his skin. He lets out a small grunt of pleasure. “Get your pants down,” he orders.

            That’s it. You move slowly at first, hands wide open in a show of innocent intent. Then your head snaps forward, out of the line of the trigger, as your hand shoots forward to claw the sensitive flesh. He yells but you’re already slamming a hand upward, knocking the gun upwards towards the ceiling. Truthfully, you had expected more of a struggle but he’s too distracted by the pain in his groin to keep a hold on the weapon. Your elbow catches him in the cheek as you both scramble to get the gun first and he goes down, letting you snatch it up.

            You know you don’t have the stomach for killing, even now; you flick the safety back on and slide the magazine out, throwing the now useless gun back at him.

            “Get a fucking life,” you snarl, tucking the bullets into your pocket.

            “Get back here, you bitch,” he howls. He’s struggling to feet and you can see that he’s already fixing his pants; you bolt, dashing for the corner as he screams obscenities after you. Suga’s name gets mixed up in there but you’ve stopped listening. You round the corner, hoping to find another exit somewhere and slam face-first into someone.

            You stumble backwards, horrified, because what little of his face you can see, you don’t recognize. The other part of it is covered in a huge black mask, from his nose to down below his chin and up over his ears. Spikes ranging from small rivets to ones over an inch in length cover the whole thing. You can already tell it’s going to feature in your nightmares.

            The man on the floor screams obscenities again and you and the masked man both look over to find him reloading the gun, taking aim at you.

            You’re yanked sharply out of the way as gunfire sounds and you squeak, going rigid next to the man. You don’t register that it’s _his_ gun that’s gone off until he’s pushing your shoulder forward, down the hallway he had just come from.

            “Come on,” he growls, voice muffled and almost mechanical under the mask. You trip over debris as he shoves you but immediately pull back, unwilling to go with anymore enemies today.

            “Who are you?” you demand. He stares back at you with wide eyes, brows creasing. There’s a muffled curse you miss and then he’s yanking up his sleeve. The same sleeve Monster had pushed up.

            The red and black Kevlar stares up at you and you don’t hesitate.

            “Yeah, let’s go.”


	8. Makeshift Weapons

            Making your way downstairs with the only staircase blocked off seems like a bit of a snag to you, but the man in the mask seems completely unperturbed by the news. You’re halfway down the second part of the hallway when you realize he’s stopped by the elevator doors, forcing them open. For one, insane second, you think he’s about to just jump down the shaft and leave you but when he steps in and barely drops, you’re even more confused.

            “Come on,” he shouts, leaning around the door down at you. You sprint back towards him, finding him standing on the roof of the elevator.

            It takes him all of five seconds to jiggle open the service hatch and he drops easily inside, barely wincing as he lands. You swallow hard, trying to force back the sudden rise of panic, and swing your legs inside quickly, trying to follow him before you stop to think too long and freeze. You can’t help the way your eyes squeeze closed as you push yourself into the drop. It hurts, quite a bit, when hands find your ribcage partway down, but the masked man slows your descent, helping you balance on the ground.

            He doesn’t pause to hear your thanks, already turning to force the elevator doors open. You swallow again, shaking your head as though that would actually shake the fear out of your mind, and move to grab one side of the doors. If he’s surprised by your assistance, he doesn’t show it; he simply switches to hold the other side and help you drag them open. When you reach for the outer doors though, he stops you.

            “Careful,” he warns, sliding in front of you. “Do you know how to use a gun?”

            “Uh – in theory?”

            That earns you a snort of amusement. “Then just stay behind me and try not to get killed, yeah?”

            “Yeah, that sounds good,” you mumble. He eases the outer doors open a crack and the sound of yelling sharpens.

            “The moment I step out of this, get ready to run left,” he orders. You nod, not trusting your voice. There’s an audible inhale, like he has to mentally prepare himself for whatever’s outside, and then he practically rips the doors apart, firing the moment he can reach his arm around the door. Screams fill the air and he moves out of the safety of the elevator, free hand going to the other gun that’s holstered on his hip. It’s a fight not to slam your hands over your ears when the sound of gunfire rips through the air and echoes around the lobby and you force yourself to follow his instructions, darting out behind him and running left.

            The sound of gunfire dies down and pounding footsteps behind you tell you that, somehow, you’ve both managed to make it out alive. You don’t look back, afraid of what’s surely a horribly grisly sight. A hand at your shoulder pushes you around the corner, to a part of the first floor you hadn’t even realized was there when you first walked in and you stop short when three more guys come into view.

            “Fuck!”

            You’re yanked backwards, the man wrapping an arm around you as he pulls you out of the way to open fire. You’re sandwiched between his body and the wall and while there’s honestly no way to protect you more, you feel overexposed and vulnerable. There’s a blood-curdling scream from down the hall and you have to fight the urge to bury your head in the man’s chest and cry. Someone else shouts for back up before the man silences him.

            “In that door,” he growls, shoving you away from him when the fire ceases. “Go.”

            You stumble down the hall, ignoring the way one man is still gasping wetly for air, and smash the door to the room open. The masked man follow a moment later, turning to inspect his surroundings and cursing loudly when he realizes there’s no exit.

            Incoming footsteps drag his attention back towards the fight. “Just stay here,” he snarls, reloading both of his weapons. “Back up’s coming.”

            You nod, but by the sound of it, there are a lot of enemies coming and he’s one guy with two pistols. He leans cautiously around the edge of the doorway, attention fully off of you, and you turn towards the cabinets, determined to find at least something to help. There’s not much lying around in the room, just a dirty sink and metal table that are both empty, but the cabinets are full as you thrown open their doors.

            The cabinet full of half a dozen bottles of bleach is particularly disturbing, considering the place you’re in. The rest are full of standard cleaning supplies and other various items and you start dragging things out until you find a few things you recognize. Some are basically useless, like the bottle of Windex, but others have much more potential – you grin when you pull out an almost full bottle of drain cleaner. The pops of gunfire begin to echo through the hallway again and you flinch, whimpering, as you try to remember the things you’ve read online.

            You grab the Windex, unscrewing the cap and upending the whole thing in the sink, letting it drain out as you grab another, beaten up empty water bottle with some sort of white residue on the inside that you really don’t want identified. When the Windex has drained away, you throw the bottle on to the table and haul bleach, the water bottle, and the drain cleaner next to it. You race to rummage through the rest of the cabinets, almost giving up hope until you find a Tupperware container covered with a piece of aluminum foil rubber-banded on. You rip both foil and band away, heading back to the table.

            “Min, Kook, I need you guys _now!_ ” The man screams, one finger pressed against the part of his mask covering his ear. You can only assume there’s some sort of radio in it, but your fingers still tremble as you speed up.

            Moving off of instinct and only theoretical knowledge, you fill the Windex bottle with bleach and cap it once more before filling the used water bottle with the drain cleaner. It’s not Drano, and you really have no idea if this is going to work, because these types of things are known to be temperamental, but it’s better than doing nothing. You tear a piece of tinfoil off, scraping it against the table to try and get some of its coating off, and ball it up. Forcing it into the mouth of the plastic bottle, you move even faster as you cap it. The rubber band goes around both the Drano bomb and the bottle of bleach, and you pray to god this works or else you look like a complete fool and probably get yourself killed. Almost instantly, the bottle starts to fill with gas and you wait nervously as it turns whiter and whiter. When it finally becomes so thick, you can’t see through it, you grab it and run.

            “Look out!” you yell over the gunfire, thanking your lucky stars that the masked man actually hears you. It’s somewhat surprising that he actually listens but you don’t stop to consider that before you lob it around the corner towards your attackers. There’s a moment of silence and you hear a faint _what the hell is this?_

            “What the hell was that?” the masked man agreed. You can’t tell if the anger in his eyes is at you or just because of your situation.

            “Drano bomb?” you answer weakly. “Tied to a Windex bottle of bleach?”

            “Pathetic!” someone calls from outside the door and you wince.

            “Those aren’t reliable,” the man grunts, reloading his pistol.

            “Yeah, I –”

            There’s a pair of loud pops and you flinch away from the door as someone starts to scream. The masked man shoves you out of the way, leaning around the doorway gun-first and goes still.

            “Luck’s on your side this time, it seems,” he grunts. “Let’s go.”

            You follow close on his heels, wondering if you’re imaging the hint of an impressed tone in his voice. You don’t get your hopes up too much but at least he’s still trying to keep you alive. You round the corner back towards where you had first come from, grimacing as you’re faced with the carnage from before. There’s no time to dwell on it when a familiar voice cuts through the air.

            “This way!” The lavender-haired V stands in the doorway to the building, gesturing frantically. “It’s clear, just run!”

            “Go!” your companion snarls, shoving you in front of him. You stumble into a bolt, trying to remind yourself that you thought you’d feel safer with them than you would with L.Joe’s gang. Whatever they were called. V stands out of the way as you reach the door, pushing you past him and out into the sunlight. You squint as the sudden brilliance, but a hoarse call keeps you from stopping.

            Suga’s sitting in the open doorway of a van parked across the street from the building’s entrance. Your recognition of the vehicle is just enough to make you slow down but impatience flits across the drug dealer’s face.

            “Come on!” he yells again, waving you in. You dash the rest of the way, ignoring the outstretched hand to help you in. Instead, you crash unceremoniously into the van and try not to wince at the bruising impact of the floor.

            V, the masked man, and the boy you’ve come to recognize as Jungkook follow close behind you, albeit with much more graceful entrances. You wince, trying to sit back upright.

            “Drive,” the familiar growl of Monster sounds. He’s in the back of the van, cleaning something, and the driver jams on the gas as hard as L.Joe’s friend did earlier, only this time, there’s nothing to stop you from toppling back down to the floor. Suga slides the door closed and the van goes silent except for the roar of the engine and the sound of heavy breathing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the support guys~!! Your comments are the cutest <3


	9. Misinformation

            You don’t try to sit back up a second time after you fall, opting instead for throwing an arm over your face to drown out the sounds of the gang regrouping. There are a lot of things you don’t want to hear, death and injuries and vengeance, so you focus on the sound of the street passing under the tires. No one seems to pay you any attention, something you’re grateful for, but as your heart rate starts to slow and the adrenaline wears off, your mind starts running logically again. You have absolutely no idea who’s trying to kill you and though you’re probably a lot safer now than you were before, you don’t know what Bulletproof’s plans are. If they even include you at all. For all you know, you were a surprise to them and they’ll just dump you back at your apartment and leave you to get killed.

            “Conclusion?”

            “CAP’s dead, all but one of his inner circle is dead, their weapons are on the way to our place, and their computers and info have been destroyed,” the masked man rattles off. “And, in the process, we picked up a lost college kid.”

            That answers one question; the other sticks in your throat.

            “No injuries of ours to report, right?” You don’t recognize the voice but from the direction of the source, you suspect it might be the man driving.

            “None,” Monster agrees.

            “What about you, college kid?” Suga asks. There’s derision dripping from every syllable of the nickname.

            “Fine,” you respond, voice cracking until it’s barely heard above the sound of the road. Someone snorts in amused disbelief.

            “Only because Hoseok saved her ass,” someone else mutters. There’s a smack and a cry of indignation.

            “She did her share,” the voice of the masked man comes. It’s much less muffled now and though you don’t look, you can tell he’s shed the mask. Unhindered, his voice is almost gentle compared to its previous sound. The mild praise warms the lead that’s growing in your stomach but not by much; at this point, you’re starting to think there’s no scenario where you come out of this mess alive. You’d like to say that you’d find L.Joe and kill him for getting you tangled up in everything but, from the sound of it, that’s already been taken care of.

            “Hey.” There’s a sharp finger in your side and you snarl, reacting on instinct as you slam Suga’s wrist into the ground, lunging upwards and wrenching him onto the floor next to you. He goes down with a cry of surprise and the back of the van erupts in noise but it’s the way Suga wraps a quick arm around your waist and tosses you aside easily that brings you back to your senses. Something hard slams into your ribs as you land and the van goes quiet as you cry out.

            “Sorry,” you rasp, dragging yourself into a sitting position. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think.”

            There’s another moment of silence and you can feel every eye on you – except for, hopefully, the driver’s – and you mutter another apology as the tension eases.

            “Told you,” the masked man mutters. ”Good instincts.”

            “Good reaction time too,” Monster agrees. You flush and study the floor, but V’s calling Monster’s name incessantly; something tells you if anyone else was that annoying, Monster would just kill them.

            “I found this on one of CAP’s buddies.”

            There’s a long silence and you glance up for a moment to see Monster studying a piece of paper. He snorts, shaking his head. “Suga,” he calls, reaching the paper out. The drug dealer leans forward, snatching the note, eyes flickering as he scans it.

            “Hey,” Suga snarls after a moment. Your hasty apology clearly hasn’t made him any less belligerent. “You know wanna know why you were dragged off to Top Roman’s headquarters?”

            “Top Roman?”

            “CAP’s gang,” he clarifies impatiently. “They brought you there today to kill you.”

            The world around you collapses. Just like that, it’s just you and him and the ringing in your ears that said you were supposed to be dead. You’re not sure why they didn’t kill you on sight – it certainly would’ve been easier – or why they wanted you dead in the first place. “W-what?”

            “They thought they could use you,” he continues, crumpling the paper and throwing it at you. “To get to me.”

           You snap back into reality like a rubber band; that made no sense. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” you scoff, snatching the ball of paper and smoothing it out.

            _Subject’s name is _______ _______. College student. Strong evidence suggests a romantic link to Bulletproof’s Suga. Could provide invaluable insight on Bulletproof. Suggestion action: acquire information and dispose of subject._

            You jaw goes slack as you look back up at him. “That’s insane.”

His face twists into a sardonic agreement and the sound of him sucking his teeth loudly grates on your ears. “Because of the beanie,” he surmises and you’re not sure what emotion is coloring his tone. “Because you wouldn’t take off the damn beanie. They saw me drop you off at the café and then assumed you were my girlfriend. Wearing the blasted thing everywhere.”

“How would you even know?” you snap. Suga raises an eyebrow and there’s an awkward silence in the car.

            “Fucking Christ,” you snarl under your breath. “Here.”

            You yank the thing off your head and throw it across the van at him. “Thank you,” he snaps.

            “From the information we have, there’s no one else that tried to kill you today,” Monster breaks in. You sneer one last time at the drug dealer across from you before turning to glance at the rest of the gang. The masked man is facing away from you, the spiked contraption next to him on the floor, and V and Jungkook are against the back doors. V’s produced a lollipop from somewhere and, knowing what he’s capable of, it makes for a disturbing image as he cheerfully sucks away. The third boy you don’t recognize, but from the bloodied knuckles he’s wrapping and the swollen arm muscles, you can guess he’s the muscle of the operation. Despite the van’s dim light, Monster’s still got the same huge sunglasses over his face as he does the first time you laid eyes on him.

            “But there was –”

            “Whoever smashed your window was working with your friend,” he cuts you off. “You don’t think it was rather convenient timing for them to smash it just went he was at your door, trying to convince you to go with him?”

            You fall silent. You hadn’t considered it, too caught up in the idea that you could be killed.

            “Think, next time,” he snaps. “Before you go running off with gang members that show up at your door. You’ll get yourself killed.”

            Your response sticks in your throat again and you just nod, looking away from the men studying you and taking far too much interest in the floor. It’s a hard fight not to cry and you earn a fierce headache for your efforts but all you can think of is how ironic his words are considering you’ve run off with even more gang members. You wonder just how true his last words are. If he’s going to make them true. Still, you’re on the winning end of your fight with your tears by the time the van slows to a halt at the headquarters.

            Suga slides the side door open before the man behind the wheel even has time to turn the engine off, darting away before you can see where he’s going. For someone with such an air of casual laziness, he moves faster than you’d expected.

            “Blind her,” Monster rumbles, standing to follow.

            You jerk, eyes going wide, and you scramble upwards intent on running, fighting, something, anything because you refuse to go down without a fight.

            “Hey, hey, calm down!”

            The voice of the masked man cuts through the van but you don’t listen, yanking your arm out of his hand as you tear for the open door. You drop down to the pavement, turning on your heel to run the way you had come in – hopefully – but Suga’s already there, cutting you off.

            “Take a breath, college kid,” he grins, slapping a cloth over your nose and mouth.

            You scream, stumbling backwards, but the cloth is _soaked_ , and you’re already starting to spin. Your legs feel numb and the gray of the room or garage or wherever you are blurs and what’s left of your rational thought wonders if they’ll have the mercy to kill you while you’re unconscious. You slam backwards into something warm, too warm, and the arms that pin you against the heat are too strong for you to fight, even if you weren’t drugged.

            “Honestly, you didn’t have to _terrify_ her,” is the last thing you hear before you’re out.

           

 

            When you wake, the room is so dark, you’re uncertain whether you‘ve actually opened your eyes. There’s nothing tied over them, no blindfold or restraints even on your hands, but you can’t see anything. You get your hand all the way to your face without seeing it once. Your mouth is drier than it was the last time you woke up in their headquarters, your head banging harder, but the bed you’re on is considerably softer, and when you come to enough, you realize you have both pillow and blanket.

            Bewildered doesn’t begin to cover it.

            It takes you three tries and almost ten minutes to sit up and stay sitting up, and even then, you have to spend some time leaning against the wall the bed’s up against until your head stops spinning. Whatever they knocked you out with was stronger than what V used last time.

            You’re still orienting yourself when the door creaks open. You shrink back against the wall, recognizing the Jungkook’s silhouette. There’s no tray in his hands this time.

            You force every drop of courage you have to your throat and your voice still comes out raspy and cracking. “What, are you here to finish the job?”

            The boy pauses, sort of shifting backwards as he processes your words. “No?” he answers with the hesitant tone of an accused teenager. You snort. “I was sent to check on you.”

            “Likely,” you snap. The boy shrugs.

            “We’re not gonna kill you, but have it your way.”

            Darkness swallows the room again and you wait for the sound of the door latching but it doesn’t come. Jungkook’s footsteps recede until everything’s silent again and that’s when you break, curling up on the bed until your forehead can settle against your knees. You try to stay quiet, not wanting them to hear you sobbing if the room was bugged. You sob until there’s nothing left to cry out and wipe your wet cheeks on the blanket. After that, despite the pain in your head and the cracking of your dry lips, you can’t find sleep. Every time you even close your eyes for a few minutes, you start to drift off only to have violent portraits of the door slamming open, and someone come to end it splashed across the back of your eyelids. Sometimes it’s Jungkook and his gun, sometime it’s V with an evil grin and a cloth. Sometimes it’s the man in the mask but you’re never sure what exactly he’s holding.

            However many hours later, you can only assume it’s morning, and the door creaks open again. Your cheeks are dry by that point, cleared of tear-tracks, but Jungkook just looks particularly bored. There’s a tray back in his hands and this time, he doesn’t drop it next to you on the bed. You look up in surprise when he hands it to you.

            “I’m not letting you poison me,” you snarl when he’s in the doorway. You’re not sure where the courage you have comes from; you just feel dead.

            “It’s not poisoned,” he snaps.

            “Don’t go running with gang members,” you recite. “You’ll get yourself killed.”

            Jungkook looks at you like you’re insane. “We’re not – whatever.”

            He leaves without a glance backwards and you glance down at the tray. A standard Korean breakfast – a meal that could double as dinner, one that’s still hot and, admittedly, smells good enough to make your stomach growl. The cup of coffee on the corner of the tray is what really grabs your focus and though you don’t dare drink it, you set the tray aside and wrap your hands around the mug to appreciate its warmth. Its smell alone is comforting.

            You get about a minute of peace before a yell cuts through the building. You’re not sure what you expect but you shriek when the door slams open hard enough to bang against the wall. The man in the door way is unfamiliar but he could easily be the one driving the van from yesterday; either way, the tank top he’s wearing exposes the Kevlar vest tattoo on his arm.

            “I’ve never been so insulted,” he yells. “To think _I_ would stoop to defiling _my own cooking_ with poison!”


	10. An Offer

            You stare back on him, jaw slack and without the slightest clue of what to say when Jungkook bursts out laughing behind, leaning casually on the doorway as he eyes curve. It’s a rather adorable laugh for a serial killer; he looks more like a bunny. You glance back at the infuriated man in front of him, swallowing hard.

            “I – uhm, I’m sorry?” you squeak.

            “Oh honestly,” he snaps, stalking forward. He snatches the plate off the tray, picking up whatever’s on top and popping into his mouth. “Happy?”

            “Sure?” you offer. The man scoffs, turning on his heel and stalking towards the doors.

            “Heathens, Jungkook, all of them,” he mutters as he goes. “Doesn’t even appreciate the _coffee_.”

            You glance at the mug, briefly entertaining the idea that _it’s_ poisoned and they’re trying to guilt you into drinking it.

            “Just take it,” Jungkook suggests, pushing himself off the doorframe. Mirth still lingers in his features “Jin gets touchy when people don’t eat the food he makes.”

            He leaves and the door stays open, flooding the room with light, and you cautiously sip at the coffee. Your heart’s in your throat, thudding in your ears, but the drink’s smooth, cool enough not to burn and just sweet enough to cut the bitter taste. You pause after the first few sips but nothing happens in the minutes that stretch by. Not even the slightest wave of nausea, so you set the cup down and move on to the food.

            You don’t get halfway through the meal when you understand Jin’s sensitivity about his food. It’s one of the best meals you’ve tasted since the last time your mother cooked you food, honest-to-goodness wonderful, and part of you thinks that even if it was poisoned, you could easily deal with this being your last meal. Before you can even properly register it, the food’s gone and you’ve finished off the coffee.

            The door’s still open and you pick at the blanket, pulling it over your legs as you fidget. There’s no sound, not even the faint sound of chatter; you’re not sure if you find that more or less terrifying than the idea of hearing any of them nearby. Minutes stretch on and no one comes back to check on you, not even Jin and his righteous anger over his food. The light streaming into the room gives you a better look at what’s in it and though there’s really not much to look at, you can see now that there’s a table and dresser, and a second door on the opposite wall from you.

            Glancing at the open door warily, you creep off the bed. It’s old but it doesn’t creak, something that you thank fate for, and you dart across the room as quickly as possible while remaining silent. You turn the second’s door handle slowly, praying it doesn’t squeak, and push it open when you find it unlocked. Inside is barely visible, but you can make out a toilet and a sink and your shoulders sag in relief.

            You’re not really sure what you expected. A gun closet, maybe.

            It takes a little fumbling but you manage to flick on the lights, squinting as fluorescence floods the room. You don’t have to use the toilet just yet but there’s a mirror above the sink and a still-packaged toothbrush sitting next to a small thing of toothpaste on the sink and it’s enough to make you grin. By the time you’ve brush your teeth and finger-combed your hair – not exactly neat but better than it was – you feel almost normal. Minus the pounding headache.

            A knock on the outer doorway makes you jump and you have to look away from how wide your eyes get in the mirror in order to calm down enough to peek around the bathroom door. It takes a moment for you to recognize the man standing in the other room but the spiked hair leaves no question.

            “Oh good, you did end up eating,” the masked man smiles. It’s sort of unnerving how the same man who was the thing of nightmares with his mask on has such a megawatt smile. “Jin was almost on the warpath.”

            “Sorry,” you mutter, fighting the urge to shrug.

            “Monster wants to see you, if you’re ready,” he continues. “Specifically to _not_ kill you, if that helps.”

            You don’t respond, looking away from the man’s searching eyes. As much as you were starting to believe it, you couldn’t shake the idea that there was no reason for them to keep you alive and there was always the possibility that they were just horribly twisted and wanted to play with their victim. There’s a sigh from the doorway and you glance up to see he’s turned serious.

            “There’s clearly nothing I can say to make you believe it,” he says, voice low. “But Monster’s on his way, so maybe he can convince you.”

            Your stomach knots at the prospect of seeing the man who had basically tortured you for hours on end up close and personal again and you find yourself hoping that the man in the mask stays so at least you won’t be alone.

 _He’s not gonna stay if he doesn’t have a reason to!_ you scream at yourself. _Say something!_

What comes out is a garbled mess that might be somewhere close to a ‘ _your name’s Hoseok right?’_ but it’s mostly just nonsense. Your cheeks immediately grow warm and despite the menacing aura he’s draped with, the man laughs. It’s somewhere between charming and terrifying.

            “Yeah,” he grins. “My name’s Jung Hoseok, Bulletproof’s resident engineer. Though I mostly just engineer explosions.”

            He grins even wider at his own joke and doesn’t seem the least bit deterred when you laugh weakly, too late to pass as real amusement. You swallow, drying to rid yourself of the dryness in your throat.

            “Tha-thank you for saving me yesterday,” you stammer. “Or, well, whenever it was.”

            Hoseok smiles, almost believably innocent, and checks his watch. “Two days ago, now,” he corrects. “But you’re welcome.”

            “I was out that long?”

            “Suga tends to be a little heavy-handed on the knockout drugs,” Hoseok explains with a grimace. “V’s more careful with things.”

            Thinking back, even with how hazy the memory was, you remember how wet the cloth was. “Yeah, my head hurts significantly more than last time,” you mutter, rubbing at your temple.

            “Not much to do but wait for it to subside, I’m afraid.”

            You nod slowly, having expected that much. You really don’t have anything else you want to say to him, but Monster has yet to appear and when Hoseok shifts backwards, your heart skips. “I didn’t think I would wake up,” you blurt out, “So I guess I don’t mind the headache.”

            A brief flicker of annoyance crosses his features and you wonder if you shouldn’t have gone for a different topic. “Monster didn’t want you knowing anything about headquarters because it’d be safer for both you and us,” he explains. “I don’t know why he couldn’t just tell you that, but I’ve stopped questioning him at this point.”

            The last words you heard before you were knocked out come back to you. “You caught me,” you realize.

            “You more crashed backwards into me,” he corrects. “But essentially.”

            “I suppose I owe you twice, then.”

            “Oh, it’s no big deal.” He grins so widely, his pupils vanish as his eyes turn to crescents. “You just owe me your life and then some, that’s all.”

            You choke out a laugh, fighting down hysterics because a man this cheerful and smiley should not be capable of the things you saw back in that building. But the memory of carnage is seared on the backs of your eyelids; you try not to think about the carnage you caused. Your hands are pressed into your eyes, trying to calm yourself down and hide the growing tears, when the sound of Monster’s voice rumbles down the hall. Hoseok leans back out of the door, glancing down towards the sound, and your hands dampen for a whole new reason.

            Hoseok calls something to the leader that you don’t hear over the thumping of your heart in your ears but he leans back in with a casual grin. “You can sit, if you want,” he says, stepping fully into the room. “Probably more comfortable. And take a breath, yeah? You’re okay.”

            You mumble a stuttered agreement, looking down as you hurry past him to the bed. It’s a fight not to tug the blanket over your legs – or to completely curl up and just pull it over your whole body. There’s not much of a chance to struggle with yourself; Monster fills the door frame a moment later. His overly large sunglasses are gone and as terrifying as they were you find it’s a lot more unnerving when you can actually see his stare on you. Jin’s at his shoulder, though he looks less annoyed than before.

            Hoseok leans against the wall, hands in his pockets, as Monster clears his throat awkwardly.

            “First, I – uhm, want to apologize,” Monster starts. His voice still drips with authority but he’s quieter now and actually sounds sincere. “For Suga’s heavy-handed use of the drugs. He got carried away.”

            “It’s fine,” you whisper. You glance at him and find you only have the heart to look for a split second before you stare at everything from the wall to the bathroom door to the blanket.

            “Second, to avoid future conflicts with Jin, I want to give you my word as the leader of this gang that no member has the intention or orders to harm you,” he continues with a sigh.

            “Why?” you spit before you think. Monster raises an eyebrow and Hoseok coughs to cover his surprise. You don’t even know where the vehemence came from.

            “Because, quite frankly, the idea that you could present any sort of a threat is laughable,” he snaps. “Against a mugger on the street, yeah, you could probably hold your own. But any of us could end you in a second.”

            “Noted,” you mutter.

            “You’re a civilian,” he continues. “And, as Jin and Suga pointed out, killing college kids isn’t exactly our M.O. It’d cause more problems than it solves.”

            The harshness of his voice douses you in ice. It’s violent and demeaning and you feel so small, you think you could crawl under the blanket and not even make a lump. And somehow, you believe every word he’s said because of it.

            “The problem now is that you’ve been linked to us,” Monster explains with a hard sigh, leaning against the wall as his arms fold over his chest. “Not by the cops, but by the other gangs. And to be honest, them knowing is worse than the cops knowing.”

            That part’s your own fault, apparently.

            “Usually, we wouldn’t do this. I have no qualms about just dumping you back at your apartment and moving on.”

            “Thanks,” you can’t help but snarl.

            “ _But_ ,” he pushes on with a pointed look. “Hoseok at least was impressed by the way you acted at Top Roman’s place and it’s not exactly easy to get the drop on Suga like you did. So we’re willing to offer you protection.”

            Whatever you were expecting, it wasn’t that.


	11. Adjustments

            “What exactly does that mean?” you breathe.

            “We can’t be with you all the time, but the safest place for you is near us,” he answers. “Jin’s willing to take you on as a waitress at his club, maybe even a bartender if you get proper training. I’m assuming you know the Club Triptych.”

            “You could say that,” you snort. Your roommate’s been trying to get in for months and got turned away every time.

            “I run a tight ship,” Jin grins and there’s a slightest touch of bloodlust in it. You’re starting to think everything they do is touched with bloodlust.

            “Aren’t the cops after it for prostitution?” you ask without thinking. Jin laughs.

            “They’ve yet to succeed with anything,” he shrugs. “My workers enjoy their jobs too much.”

            “That’s not something you have to worry about,” Monster interrupts. “Unless you have some desire to become a sex worker.”

            “I’m good, thanks,” you say quickly. “Waitressing is fine.”

            “Fine,” the leader nods. “But you won’t always be there, so you’ll need to be able to properly protect yourself when you’re alone. Jimin and Jungkook have agreed to train you in self-defense and weapons. Even if you’re only on the fringes of gang life, you should know how to fight with and against guns and knives.”

            “Okay,” you agree, trying to quell the knotting in your belly. _You have to do this to stay alive,_ you remind yourself.

            Hoseok clears his throat pointedly and you can see Monster fighting the urge to roll his eyes. “Hoseok has also agreed to instruct you on his line of work, should you want to learn how to, as he puts, properly blow shit up.”

            You glance at the man on the wall in surprise and he just grins that megawatt smile again. “You should learn something a little more reliable than Drano battle bombs strapped to bleach,” he reasons innocently.

            Somehow, despite everything, that makes you laugh. Really, honestly laugh. “All right,” you concede, breathless. “Let’s do it.”

            “It’s done then,” Monster finishes.

            “I’m not a member though, right?” you question, turning to him. “I’m on the fringes of gang life.”

            “Did I offer you membership in this gang?” he snaps. You flinch backwards with an apologetic mumble. The leader sighs, impatience in every line of his body, and shoves himself back towards the door. “Take care of the rest.”

            Jin rolls his eyes. “I guess we’re not doing proper introductions then,” he snips. “My full name is Kim Seokjin. You’re right, I run the prostitution ring at Tryptich but before you freak out, every person working there chose to. I’ll get the paperwork for your job drawn up; you’ll start this weekend.”

            “Okay,” you nod, your voice going hoarse. This was really happening.

            “Hoseok, you take care of her, yeah?” Jin asks as he follows after his leader. It sounds like a question, in a way, but you know it’s not.

            “We should get started,” Hoseok chirps. “Let’s get you some more protective clothing and go down to my lab.”

            You follow him shyly through the winding halls of Bulletproof’s headquarters. Monster and Jin have vanished and the only other person you run into is V, who gives you that disarming smile and promises that he’ll be the only one to knock you out from them on.

            “How comforting,” you snort.

            V blinks and then beams at Hoseok. “I think she may actually fit in quite well around here.”

            You’re not sure why the thought doesn’t scare you as much as it should.

 

 

_Three Months Later_

 

            “I gave you a time table for a reason,” Jin complains as he finally comes out of the backroom, shirt still half unbuttoned. “What if we had decided to take things out here?”

            “You didn’t though,” you shrug, thumbing through the cash his most recent client had thrown at you before running out. He hadn’t realized you were there and was a little bit more than startled. You’ve learned not to bat an eyelash when it comes to Jin’s backroom deeds.

            “We still could’ve,” he grumbles. There’s no anger in his tone; he’s as used to you showing up early and staying late as you are to seeing him in various states of undress. “Did something happen?”

            “Just got spooked on the way back from class,” you explain. “I’m not sure if it was actually anything but didn’t feel like risking it.”

            Jin nods. Since you had started working Tryptich, you had had to change apartments three times. The most recent time, you had spent a week at headquarters because no one would give you a place with your growing reputation. Monster had been forced to step in and persuade a landlord into letting you stay. At this point, most of your belongings were in storage, since no place was permanent enough to warrant actually moving in.

            “You’d think they’d lose interest, after so many failed attempts,” Jin sighs, pulling a bottle of whiskey from under the bar. The glass he grabs clinks loudly on the counter.

            You just shrug. “The ones who attack me lose interest pretty quickly.”

            Jin laughs. “Taehyung was right. You do fit in well.”

            The thought bothers you even less than it did before. He ruffles your hair, making you grimace as you turn to log the latest revenue.

            “I’m gonna shower,” he calls as he heads for the back again. “Oh, and there’s a delivery for you. The box next to the mini-fridge. It’s from Hoseok.”

            You grin where he can’t see, ducking to find the cardboard box tucked away. There’s a note taped to the top, folded in half. Setting the package down, you tug the paper off as you search for a knife. You unfold the note with one hand, reading it as you slide the box towards at a better angle to open it.

            _For the little firebird_

            Your grin grows; you had set so many fires the first week with him, both accidental and purposeful, he had taken to calling you Firebird around the lab. There’s a warmth in your heart that you’re not certain you want to acknowledge so you tuck the note in your pocket and turn to the package. It’s not taped shut very well, so you assume Hoseok delivered it himself.

            Inside is a black mask. A smaller version of the one he had worn when you first met him, covered in the exact same spikes and rivets. He had taken measurements a few weeks earlier, so casually you had almost forgotten about it, but you didn’t really expect him to have his mask duplicated for you. You pull it out tenderly, turning it over in your hands to see it from all sides. The spikes are sharp, but not painful, on your palms. Trying to ignore the warmth of tenderness in your chest, you slip it on carefully. Over your nose, down to your chin, and up to your ears. Turning, you look back at the mirrored wall behind the liquor bottles. The person that looks back at you isn’t entirely a stranger. Their eyes crinkle in a smile and, underneath that mask, you think, their smile might just be the slightest bit touched with bloodlust.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so so much for reading and commenting and just supporting this!! This is the last chapter of the fic, but I have a few other standalone scenes in the same verse that I'll be uploading as well. And since I do still have a lot of inspiration for gang!BTS I'll upload more stuff as I write it. I hope you all enjoyed it! <3 <3


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